Sit with your legs closed, they said.
Don't speak too loud, they said.
Oh you abuse? Not very feminine.
Your bra strap is showing, adjust it, they said.
Oh you're in the army? How will you manage your family?
Oh you're a police officer? What if something happens to you?
Think of your family, then choose a job!
She has to make the compromises, they said.
Your top looks too tight, your jeans is too tight!
Have a soft nature. That's not boldness, that's attitude, they said.
Don't give them a chance to rape you,
Don't give them a chance to want to touch you. 'Men will be men'
'Aunty was just advising you' they said.
People will talk, people will observe,
Make sure you're covered,
Be safe, they said.
So here I stand one more time,
And as I break the chains on my mouth,
I ask, "Who's 'they'? Who are these people?" "The ones wanting to touch me or the ones keeping an 'eye' on me?"
"Who made this rulebook for my safety?" My doubts remain ignored, disguised in a series of 'Don't question your elders.'
The answers, that I still don't get.
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“Laut jaati hai udhar ko bhi nazar kya kije; Ab bhi dilkash hai Tera husn magar kya kije!” I dribble myself pound by pound, in the poems I wrote to you, to find pieces of my soul; the ones that belonged to me, and the ones that I gave away to you, making your being the essence of mine. The flowers have wilted and letters turned to dust, the songs of tranquil take inches of my heart away and wash them in regret.
Tell me how good is it to love a heart more than ours and how selfless to worship a soul over our own. Page after another I weep not finding myself in praises of you, in rainbows I carved out of my love to settle these fingers of mine on the edges; in nights I spent ferociously gazing at my own words betraying me, making love to you.
How I wish time came back and helped me erase your name on those letters to replace it with mine;
how I wish the nights reincarnated to fall in love with me;
how I pray my fingers danced in obedience of my own love the way they did in yours.
Jaana,
only if the dead suns came back, I’d steal the fire from each to burn memories of you;
and only if the stars shone again, I’d trade your love with mine.
The remembrance of you does no good anymore, and the verses of longing merely mock back at me confirming your side of affection. I wonder if I’d ever be able to carve the same shimmering statues of smooth compromises around your sand shaped embraces;
I doubt if I’d ever open the door again for you, to let you in, serve some more poems and make you a guest until you find another ache to get drunk in its passion;
I know I’d never turn around when you call my name for the first time screaming at the realisation of your needs and yearning to breathe an air that only my words bring in.
I know this’d be the last letter I write in your name for it is now that the epistles are burnt to ashes, the presents gifted to soil, and your pictures turned into reflections of a more promising love, and a more comforting eye that reads in my name, to never let go.
So call me back jaana, sing to me the most melodic confession, yet you won’t feel me beside.
-HafsahF
@hafsah.faquih

As a child I had always dreamt of growing up; draping Amma’s sarees and wearing bangles to move around the house like I’ll be taking it over after her. It still is a dream, to believe growing up was only wearing sarees and pretending to be a mom; cooking food for the family and expecting praises in return, moving around the markets recklessly trying to show off a newly bought outfit and smile at old acquaintances who now are mere strangers; coming back home to read a book in some cozy corner sipping coffee and commanding the maid to get chores done. Only if Amma hadn’t created this image of hers, adulting would’ve seemed realistic. She never mentioned of being scolded by a husband for serving saline food because the work pressure at home was no less than his air conditioned cabin; she never told of how the onlookers give judgemental signals on every shade that we paint our lips with; how the strangers on regular streets would suddenly start looking away from us as our thighs become thicker and our faces lose innocence; Amma never told me that Austen, Shelly, Plath, Bronte and Woolf were her mates only till she learnt how to cook, they’re now mere pieces of decoration and visual pleasure that help her in laws boast her worth.
How losing friends was a part of life and how a bouquet of five would soon turn to five hundred scattered strands of disappointments and misunderstandings;
How mothers would decide their son’s associations with us on the basis of our sleeves and how uncles would spit their pan metaphorically throwing out their angst against our rising laurels;
How waking up early wasn’t a result of anxious sleep or insomnia, but requisite scripts written for the player who’s allowed to only sniff hot roasted coffee beans while serving it to other dimly shut, misogynist eyes and let self’s cup get cold and be served to the sinks.
Amma never told me how opening a door was a judgmental act for the approacher and how the sugar in chai determined if we’re worth socialising;
Whether or not the world accepts was based on how late our friends meet us and how we spend our nights sipping gossip and reading old, lost memories. (In comments)

I often hear the quiet popular statement, "this generation is fucked up". Initially, it made me look around at the kids who have slits on their arms, lil girls with 'broken hearts', boys and girls with every dirty joke they can come up with, and the ever ready group of modern extremists who wouldn't give up on a chance to reason against illogical ideals and norms. .
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However, years later, I looked around again. When I saw all the misfit actions mentioned above happen right in front of my eyes, my perspective took another turn.
I saw how girls are afraid no more to confront anyone. How our youth will never let norms and irrational practices take over again, in the name of culture. How women today are growing industrially, educationally, mentally and morally. How we don't commercialize marriage in the name of dowry anymore. The ideas have changed, one baby step at a time and they're still changing, taking a U-turn from our 'culture'. We have sleepless children who work for dreams that they believe are real. We have eyes with dark circles looking around for opportunities to seize. We have hands that are being extended to help without hesitation. We have love, not just a word anymore, but a free zone for anyone to enter without judgement about gender.
We have feet that aren't afraid to stand against oppression anymore, a voice that isn't leashed up to speak against injustice, perspectives so strong that can influence millions today. We might be emotionally unstable, spontaneous humans with anger issues, but this generation has boldness, has passion that could bring a dying heart to beat again.
So if this generation is what a fucked up generation looks like, then I couldn't be more proud to be a part of it.
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Letter to the protectors of our society.
Dear sir/ma'am,
Thank you for telling us about our culture. Thank you for telling us that you want us safe. Thank you for giving us our rights. Thank you for making us feel equal to men. And most of all, thank you, for keeping an eye on us.
However, we don't want it.
We don't want to be 'appreciated' when you whistle and wink at us, sir. We don't want to 'feel good' when you look at us. Thank you for telling our mothers as to how inappropriately we dress, ma'am, since it has surely stopped rape. I'm sure your daughter, who might be dressed in a kurta will not be raped, god forbid. Thank you for 'telling' , I repeat, not insulting us by making us 'aware' of how our clothes look like we 'want' it. But ma'am, why did your son eve tease, oh sorry, 'appreciate' us when we were coming out from our colleges in the kurtas and following your cultural advice? Why did that guy snatch her dupatta while he was on the bike and she was just walking back home. I'm so sorry sir, we didn't take your 'compliments' in a positive manner. I'm sure it was her fault that you couldn't hear her when she said no as your hand covered her mouth. We're sorry sir.
But here's a request.
We don't want to be 'looked out' for. We don't want your 'protection' sir.
We DON'T WANT it.
I'm sure if you can keep your eyes and hands to yourself, your opinions to yourself,
We will be just fine.
Thank you for this safe society you've given us, which is full of culture.
But WE DON'T WANT IT.
Appreciating all your 'efforts', .
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Yours truly,
The girl who was raped/ the girl who might get raped.
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Black coffee without sugar // I think it’s high time I accept that the dark liquid I’ve been preying on since years has now created its home into my veins. The blackness and bitterness of coffee runs so much into my blood that I’ve forgotten what kindness is. I’ve forgotten the attribute of pretence; that is the only way to keep a relationship built up. I’ve realised that the only reason people leave you, and the only thing that keeps the right ones is “truth”. Honesty, a simple seven letter word comes with a lot of brutality from the giver and tolerance in path of the seeker. We conveniently scream that all we want is transparency from a bond so as to keep misunderstandings at bay; we loudly assert that if served with truth, no matter how harsh it is, it keeps relations intact and only contributes by blossoming the bonds with all the nourishment to bear fruits that we later cherish. Easier said than done, we’re not yet ready. We are not ready to accept words served on a knife, not because they’re sharp, but because they have the ability to kill our ego. .
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I’ve lost a thousand people and on the verge of losing another, I realised what do I lack the most; I now know that those brown black coffee sips that I take, come out in multiple forms of the most blunt and harsh words that somehow pushes my closed ones away. I remember, until I wasn’t the kind of person that I am today, I had a hundred people beside me, I had a lot of amazing bonds to look up to; because I never ever uttered a single word that hurts the other person. Unfortunately and fortunately, since the day this little bitch inside me started evolving, all I’ve seen is people go away. Funny how our tiny statements break the strongest knots, funny how the beads of affection fall from such a height that they shatter to never ever come together again, crazy how people function like corporate offices. The more you flatter, the more you’ll be loved. .
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Let’s take a few moments and analyse our relationships. Let’s see what art do we master, pretence or honesty. For those balloons of lies and ... (in the comment section)

I often remember beginnings;
how stories are born with that very first alphabet carrying episodes forward,
the very first compliment or excuse to start a conversation which then resumes with hello’s;
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I remember tiny plots evolving out of a non-existing womb of mobility and unexpected incidents,
Those strange “I never thought we could be friends!” to “I cannot stop talking to you’”s, that begin after a thousand awkward gazes;
I like how secular tales begin in parallel paths to intersect near their climaxes, twisting scenarios with goosebumps and curiosities reaching peaks;
I like how characters bump into each other with no evident pasts or an obvious future yet combine together phrases to write pages together;
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In the ink of dialogues masked as attempts of peeping in between the lines, I always love how things originate recklessly out of bondages that incline towards commitments, deceit, mistrust and adeius;
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I only remember beginnings
Coz the rest of a story
isn’t always
frabjous...
-StringentBard .
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📷:- @siddiquek95 .
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You're scared. You're scared to lose something precious, but not your own precious self. You're scared for not having the ability to conquer the world, but you do not know what you have already lost about yourself, which was already conquered by you. You're scared that everyone will develop a bad perspective about you, but you don't care about thinking negatively for yourself. You're scared that everyone will leave you, one day, but you're not afraid of getting distant from yourself.
Talking about yourself isn't always about ego and extreme self proud. Sometimes, talking about yourself, talking to yourself is the most essential thing that we all usually neglect. Believe me, you can discover yourself more and more, everyday if you talk to yourself, if you give yourself some time. Self care and self time is so important. And if you don't know this right now, you will get to realize this very soon! •
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#writeups#happiness#motivation#motivationalwriteups#scared#writersofinstagram#writerscommunity#writingcommunity#writings#writeupsofig#selfcare#selftime#youneedyou#writeupsofinstagram

To homes that await a comer,
To roofs that crave a head to cover,
To walls desiring skins to protect,
And to poles wishing to support a tired shoulder;
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This ones to the roof by the edge of my city,
Right beside the tracks where morning routines start, and night duties end;
I saw it smirking at my restlessness the other day while I was waiting for my train to hit the end of platform number two, when I wondered of who would be staying under this tiny cave of chaos,
It seemed to be replying to my silent questions, with its voiceless answers;
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Built decades ago, it’s foundations still are as strong as a mid aged foot stepping out of a football field,
It’s roof a little more promising than human commitments that shatter right after the moment they’re made,
It’s walls pure enough in intentions of securing all polluted secrets;
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I saw it peeping,
Out of the clouds that surround it,
With invisibility and neglect,
I saw it crying for a baby, who’s voices could be songs waking mothers up in the morning,
I saw it awaiting a wife who’s food fragrances the ambience inviting the passer byes for a morsel or two;
I saw it praying for a father, who’s penny gets smiles to the house,
For a student who’s exams make the family quiet inside,
For a daughter who’s wedding bells make their ears panicky with excitement and responsibilities;
I saw it seeking lovers, who’s moans of youth add on to the age of its being and thereby make it crave for a little more life,
To witness a little more,
Of what life offers;
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I saw it desperately prostrating in prayer of all the unfulfilled wishes, and unapproachable glee, that every morning train, gets it a hope of;
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I saw it cry in the pain of loneliness,
That every noisy siren, of the night train, traces with the last foot set out... -StringentBard .
#igwritersclub#stringentbard#writerscommunity#writersofinstagram#poetsnetwork#poetsofinstagram#perrypoetry#poetryoftheday#poetryoftheweek#writeupoftheday#writers#writersociety#wordpornoftheday#wordporn#wordgasm#poemsporn#writeupsofinstagram#writeup#localtrains#mumbailife#lifeinbombay#stringentbard

Appreciation is important. Appreciate yourself for whatever you are doing. Everything you do, each and every step you take for yourself, is not a little thing. It does not matter whether that step is the most tiny one. Because the thing that matters is that you did something for your betterment. And in case, you have done nothing yet for your own self, then it's fine. It's absolutely alright if your sadness and your anxiety has overcome your happiness and the sense of your self care. It's okay if you haven't taken a step for yourself uptil now. Because believe me, one day, you will listen to yourself, you will prioritize yourself, you will understand yourself, and I guess these things are pretty enough for anyone to have. Don't worry, there will come a day, when the flowers of your garden will finally bloom!💫 •
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#writings#writercommunity#happiness#appreciation#appreciateyourself#youneedyou#writingcommunity#writingsociety#writersofig#writeups#writeupsofig#writeupsofinstagram#selfmotivation#selflove#selfcare

Often times, you think you are bound to think negative about others, because they did something devastating. Or maybe you truly are bounded by your own self.
Let's suppose that someone did something that effected you so badly that now you have started thinking with that perception about everyone around you. You should know that not all five fingers are the same. Likewise, not all people are the same. We, being humans justify everything so early that we forget that how important positivity and how harmful negativity is, whether it's about others or your own self. I agree that you can't stay positive all the time, and you can't think optimistically each and every time. But most of the time, it's our misconceptions that lead us to negative thoughts.
If someone doesn't deserve you, or you had a bad experience being with them, that doesn't mean that with everyone you interact, are the same. No, absolutely no. Everyone has a different point of view and a way of doing things. If you are satisfied by your self and you at least try to remove those pessimistic thoughts from your head, you will surely lead a happier life.❤ •
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Some things are meant to be there with you, forever. No matter if you want them to be with you or not, they just stay. Whether it's a memory of a person who meant a lot to you for a certain time or a thing or a feeling you have for anyone or anything. You can't get rid of that thing. That thing becomes a part of your bones and your soul just like the salt is a part of a sea. You just can't separate these two things, even you try your very best. I don't know, what should I name this, but I know that sometimes it feels so beautiful to have that thing or a memory, as a part of you. Whereas, sometimes it feels pathetic to have the same thing as a part of your soul. The idea of separating that thing from you gives you a feeling of horribleness, while some of the times, you wanna remove the roots of that thing from your soul but still somewhere in your heart, you want it to be there. It causes sadness most of the times, but also happiness many of the times. You cannot isolate that thing from you!✨ #writings#writeups#writercommunity#writingcommunity#writerscommunityofinstagram#writersofig#writersofinstagram#writeupsofig#writeupsofinstagram#motivation#youneedyou#takecareofyourself#selfcare#selfmotivation#selflove#motivateothers